Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Author's Chapter Notes:
More discoveries for Snape...
Chapter 6
Harry's leaving the hospital wing, a canister of something called ‘bruise balm’ with a nasty smell that he's supposed to spread on every night tucked into his bag, and his bag clutched to himself like a lifeline.

He's still a bit stunned, and he sat there and let the Madame cluck her tongue and wave her wand and stuff a potion down his throat – is this what a doctor’s visit is like? – and he's got gauze taped over the wide, bloody surface scrape on his side, his shoulder muscles feel all warm and relaxed instead of painfully strained like they did earlier, and even his bruises feel much, much better after that first layer of cream.

And he's not quite sure what to do with all this.

He's not quite sure what to do with Snape.

The man was just as angry as Harry thought he would be, dragging him through the corridors, harsh and scowling and snarling and furious. And then…

"This isn't a punishment, Potter, this is a health check.” "What else are you going to do, take points?" "Twenty points from Slytherin."

Harry had been so sure he knew what kind of adult Severus Snape was. Sure he knew what the man wanted, sure of where it all was headed, the odd questions and prodding. He had expected…he had expected...

He curls his arms around his hanging bag, shaking his head a little, as if he could just jumble everything into place.

"I don't understand–“ "You certainly don't, Mr. Potter, if you imagine I am able, much less willing, to use such methods of chastisement."

Had he misread him so badly? Snape was an adult. An adult who didn't like him, really didn't like him, seemed like had despised him right from day one. They hadn't interacted that much, but he seemed to relish tearing Harry to pieces in every way possible the few times they had. What made a man like that keep from taking a few shots at Harry when he had the wide-open chance?

Harry remembers the resigned defiance that prompted him to the hated position against the wall, remembers the grim anticipation, an iciness that seemed to shiver over his skin, remembers chanting to himself in his head it will be worth it, this'll be worth it if I get to stay, it's worth it, it's worth it. How his muscles locked rigid into place and his breath strained, and his eyes pulled tautly closed waiting for the first snap, the heat and the familiarity of the pain spreading across his already aching skin…but most of all, he remembers how it never came.

The man took points. The man took points, after Harry had mocked it incredulously as the light chastisement it was, much too light for Snape to use against him when he had better options, when he had Harry's gritted submission before him. When he had everything against Harry and something to hold over him.

And now it's relief, and it's dim apprehension and it's confusion and it's suspicion, it's hope flickering hushed in the back of his mind when he stands in front of the heavy iron-clasped door.

He's paused, leaning just barely against the wall, staring at the entrance and taking deep breaths, waiting for his wild insides to soothe and quiet like a tamed beast. They do, after a minute, as he pushes himself into focus, and he feels better. Less fragile.

He's under no misconceptions about the upcoming hearing. Draco Malfoy is the House favored, and he'll spin some tale where it's all Harry's fault, and Harry will protest in vain and then take the fall. He knows how these things go.

But he shrugs it off as he curls his fingers into a fist and raises it let out two quick, quiet raps.

He doesn't think of Malfoy, and he doesn't think of Snape as he hears "enter!" in the man's smooth, unreadable voice. He thinks of Blaise, walking next to him on their way to classes this morning, laughing, and it's the thought of that easy laughter that makes him straighten as he lets the door swing open and walks over the threshold into Snape's workspace.

Draco's sitting, stilted, in his chair, and he throws Harry a dark look, all kinds of revenge promised by those icy gray eyes. Walking slowly over to the chair next to him, Harry pulls it out and sits down, landing with a hard, muffled thud.

"Potter,"

"Sir."

They acknowledge each other, and Harry feels his balance tip a little more, because he's never heard such a neutral tone in Snape's voice directed toward him, and that alone makes him guarded. The man doesn't even look at him really, shifts his eyes to Malfoy.

"Draco, I will see you at seven tonight precisely. You may go."

"But, sir!”

"Draco," Snape warns, and the one word stops Malfoy short, making him slump petulantly back into his chair. Harry wonders what Snape did before he was here to make Malfoy so compliant.

The other boy rises to his feet, gathering his robes, and gives Harry one superior, gloating smirk, before walking, in no hurry, towards the door.

"Mr. Malfoy."

Malfoy stops, peering back at his Head.

"Twenty points will be taken for disobeying a teacher."

Malfoy looks outraged for a moment, his jaw opening and shutting, and Harry keeps a similar look of disbelief from sprawling across his face.Twenty points! That's a lot for Snape to take from Malfoy, more than he's ever taken from– actually... no. Twenty points is the same amount he took from Harry. Harry feels a prick in his mind, wondering if it means something, but brushes it away. His nerves are too raw to deal with every blip of alarm and every question mark running through his head right now.

Malfoy's turned, drawing himself up, and he stomps out, the door slamming behind him. Harry controls his breathing, evenly, and this unknown is almost worse than anything else Snape could dish out. Maybe, maybe Snape was just waiting for the privacy of his office before… he sucks his breath in quietly.

The silence is sitting so hard in the room Harry feels like a whisper might crack it open.

"So." Snape's word sounds ominous to Harry, and his teeth catch roughly on the edge of his lips. "You step in to defend the Gryffindors.”

He can feel Snape's gaze on him, can hear so many layers of tone and disgust, and he knew Malfoy would spin it around something like that.

"No, I–“ Harry's protest comes out almost squeaky, and he winces and tries again, before Snape leans forward toward him, brow low, and that's all it takes for Harry to snap his jaws shut.

"You goad Draco into the sky," Snape continues, still intimidatingly close, "and then chase after a schoolbook you clumsily dropped.”

Harry feels a flash of anger.

"That's not what happened–“ he snaps, before he can think better.

His Aunt Petunia always has gone on about his untamed tongue.

"And finally," Harry can see his jaw click, and he couldn’t read Snape at all earlier, but now the man is definitely angry, “you crash land, miraculously saving your miserable, measly text. Setting an abhorrent example for your fellow Snakes, displaying a disgusting lack of obedience toward those in rightful authority, and inconveniencing your entire class, House, and Head."

Harry twitches his head downward, trying to hide the hot anger that's starting to smolder in his face. He's not doing this. He knows the man won't hear him, he knows how this is going to end, he's only going to make it worse by–

"No defense, Potter? Nothing to say?" Snape's voice is dangerously soft.

“No sir," Harry mutters.

Snape's eyes are burning darkness now, relentless.

“Well?" he bites, "Was it worth it, Potter? Did you save your precious text?"

"Yes." Harry juts his chin out, eyes snapping.

The man finally, finally sits back, gaze tunneling on him shrewdly.

"Do you have said text?"

“Well– yes," Harry tries to cover how taken back he is by the question.

Snape's mouth curls briefly into an already familiar sneer.

"Since it seems worth disobeying rules put in place for your own safety and that of your classmates, Potter, perhaps I shall hold onto it for you until you learn the proper place of a textbook in the hierarchy of importance. I'll give you a hint; it's below safety."

Harry shrinks back a little, mind going still.

"Hand me the book, Potter,” Snape's voice is flat.

For a moment, all Harry can see is that one November day that Dudley tore his favorite schoolbook from him and ripped it to pieces while his gang held Harry pinned watching, and how much worse it would feel to give up that picture. His hands move toward the precious book, but instead of handing it over, he snatches it and hugs it to his belly, darting a glance at Snape.

The man's eyes narrow.

"Potter, the book."

"No." Harry's breath catches, and the word falls, almost involuntarily, from his lips.

Snape pushes his chair back and rises, towering over him, and Harry feels a flicker of panic. He can't explain, Snape won't care. He can't just hand it over, either, he'd never see his picture again, but the way things are going…

His mind is screaming at him, trapped. It's Snape, and it's expulsion, it's everything on the line.

“I–I can't-" Harry stutters, cursing himself for the way it comes out, small and vulnerable.

"Now Potter!"

"No," Harry gasps, jolts to his feet.

He can feel his blood careening crazily through his system. He needs… he needs Snape predictable, and the man isn't cooperating! How's he supposed to have an idea how the man's going to react after the way he shattered Harry's expectations so violently in that Hospital Wing?

But there's no hospital matron here, nothing to hold Snape back. For one split second, there's just air spinning around him and terror, and Harry not even sure what he's afraid of. A thought nags at the back of his mind. It's not ideal, and he doesn't know… but maybe if he can get Snape distracted, if he can goad the man into a livid rage, maybe Snape will belt him after all, maybe he'll be satisfied with that, maybe he'll forget about a little thing like Harry's book.

Harry swallows, pulse pounding in his throat. He doesn't have a good idea of how to do it, and he doesn't know if it will work – it could go so badly wrong, and he doesn't exactly want to get whipped, anyway. But Harry's desperate to change the man's focus before anything else can go wrong, desperate to get the worst of it over - maybe once his Head has had some outlet for the anger he can always feel simmering below the surface of every interaction with Harry, maybe he'll even be better about things. Snape wouldn't do it earlier, and Harry's not quite sure why, but maybe, maybe, as much as the thought of it makes him wince, he can use it.

The man's already angry, but not nearly as much as he was when he dragged Harry from the lesson earlier, and Harry needs him at least that furious. His breathing shivers and speeds. Okay. Defiance. He can do this.

"I said no!" Harry dares, drawing himself up and deliberately mustering every ounce of belligerence he can to shove into his tone.

Snape steps close, intimidating and severe.

"You and I both know this isn't about the book, boy!" he hisses, and Harry stares at him in alarm. Could Snape know…?

"You just wanted a chance to showcase your immodest flying skills in from of everyone! Just have to be the show-off, Potter, don't we, willfully and completely flaunting your insolence-!”

That's it, attention off the book, onto Harry. He relaxes a little. No, Snape doesn't know. But he is getting more worked up. Time to turn up the heat. He doesn't have much ammo on Snape, what does he know? Ineptitude upsets him. Flaunting authority. Anyone who thinks they know anything. And Harry. Pretty much anything to do with Harry. This shouldn't be hard, right?

"I don't know about show-off, sir," Harry's smile is small and hard, curling his lips. "Seems I'm not the one who has to always make a dramatic entrance into the classroom. Besides," he adds, deliberately flippan, "it's not like anyone got hurt."

"I'll show you get hurt, Potter!" Snape's arms snaps up, and Harry viciously steels himself against his automatic recoil, against ducking. This is what you wanted, you pushed him into this, now take it!

Blast. Snape's not doing anything. Why's he paused? What's that look? His body, his eyes…he's straightened again, all dark and burning and threatening, with shades of ice in his eyes, but he's not raging, and he's got that calculating look on his face. Words tremble in Harry's throat.

Get angry, Harry thinks, and he's not even sure who he's talking about anymore. Get angry, blast it!

"I'd like to see you try, sir,” Harry scoffs, light and quick and breathy.

The man backs away, and Harry can hardly feel his fingers anymore, they're wrapped so tightly around his book, and why is the man backing away?

And then Snape's hand darts away and whips out his wand, and…oh. Harry hadn't thought–he’d forgotten–

The eyes have calmed, black and unfathomable, and Snape raises his wand. Harry jerks sharply, panicked, throwing his hands up to block his face as he gasps, the book shielding his face.

Harry's braced himself for whatever insidious, hissing magic will shoot from the end of that dark wand, before he feels an unexpected tug. The next thing he knows, the book is ripped from his loosened grip by an unseen force.

With a cry, he leaps forward after it, hands frantic. He nearly knocks it from it's trajectory, and the book spins, splitting open, pages heaving and fluttering, while Harry's momentum sends him forward hard into the ground, skidding knees and throwing out scraped palms. In the silence after the book snaps into Snape's hand, something quivers, drops down softly in the rippling air to land on the floor, and Harry feels ripped open. He swallows miserably, his mind exhausted from the adrenaline and confused.

He cowers there on the ground for a moment, staring at it, and Snape is staring at it, too, because Snape is holding Harry's textbook and Harry's picture, image side up in plain view, is sitting there on the floor between them.
Chapter End Notes:
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